


These Days Are Gone

by aewgliriel



Series: Live Our Lives Out Loud [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Kid Fic, Mentions of Death, Rebelcaptain - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 04:35:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11372694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aewgliriel/pseuds/aewgliriel
Summary: The first of Cassian Andor's many losses.





	These Days Are Gone

_Fest_  
_Atrivis Sector_  
_20 BBY_

It was snowing as the boy trudged home through dirty drifts of slush. Of course it was. Fest was always cold, always icy, and it was almost always snowing. Cassian's boots leaked and his toes were freezing, but he was almost home.

The wind had changed direction, carrying smoke and other foul-smelling gases towards town from the chemical refinery on the outskirts. The boy, six years old, tugged his scarf up over his nose and round cheeks to keep the stench out as he crossed the last dozen or so metres to the house where his mamá and little brother waited. Papá was away, and Cassian would have to bring in the firewood while his mother kept Izan from following him into the cold.

He reached the small, squat house, one of many clustered around the short street. He'd learn later that it, like the others, had been built to house the phrik miners brought from afar several generations back. His father's people had been on Fest for all those generations, but his mother was a first-generation Festian.

Papá was away, on a trip to Carida, his mamá had said. Cassian didn't know where Carida was, just that it was far, far away from Fest.

He paused, noticing a squad of clone troopers matching his way on the longer street. Cassian paused and scooped up a rock, running back to throw it as hard as his small arm could manage. It hit one of the front troopers and the company halted as the commander yelled, “Hey! Stop that!”

Grinning behind his scarf, the boy ran the rest of the way home, nearly slipping in the slush. It wasn't much, throwing rocks at the troopers, but his parents didn't like the soldiers or the Republic, and blamed them for the hardships of the Festian people, so Cassian had been enlisted, so to speak, to throw things at them. He was an annoyance only, really, but he found it entertaining. It made his father happy.

He wanted to make his father happy. Papá had been laid off at the mine. Cassian wasn't supposed to know that, but his parents talked and he listened. The Republic was going to move to a different part of the planet, try to mine there. Papá wasn't necessary anymore.

He burst in the front door, panting from his run. The troopers hadn't followed. They never followed him, or the other boys. Their concern was the phrik refinery and the multiple attempts Separatists had made to blow it up. Fest was the only source of phrik, and it was the only export the snowy planet had. The Republic was bleeding it and its people dry. Papá hated the Republic. So Cassian was happy to hate them, too.

The house was full of people when he entered, and he dropped his school bag on the floor in surprise. Someone was crying, wailing in grief, and it took the boy a few moments to realise that these were Papá’s friends, and that it was Mamá crying.

He pushed through the crowd, between the legs and hips of people who were barely more than strangers, some of them, and found Mamá sitting on the floor with Tía Nadea. Mamá had her head on Nadea’s shoulder, her face wet with tears.

“Mamá?”

“Cassian,” Nadea said, addressing him in Festian, “go to your room and watch your brother, please.”

He knew from her tone not to argue. Everyone looked so serious, sad or angry or both. The boy had a sick feeling in his stomach. Mamá was strong, and never cried. If she was crying now, that meant something had happened to Papá.

He retrieved his school bag and made his way to the little room he shared with his two-year-old brother. Izan was in his crib, playing with a stuffed Ewok toy, but the toddler looked anxious. He peered at Cassian through the bars of the crib, brown eyes big with worry.

Cassian stuck his hands through the bars and waggled them at his brother. “Hi, Izan. Did you have a good day? I passed my spelling test, and I threw rocks at some troopers, and Aríze tried to kiss me at lunch. Girls are gross.”

Izan pushed the stuffed Ewok at him and laughed. “Sisi!” he crowed. “Play?”

Carefully, Cassian lowered the side of the crib. It was an old one, made of plasteel and metal, but Cassian could still work the latches. Mamá thought he didn't know how, but he was smart.

Izan scrambled out of the crib with his brother's help and the two boys settled on the floor with the toys Papá had made them, speeders and space ships and little men made from metal scraps and crudely carved wood.

Sometime later, the bedroom door opened and Mamá came in. She silently sat down, not commenting on the open crib, and picked up one of the figurines.

“Cassian,” she said softly. “I have something to tell you.”

“Something happened to Papá,” he said, just as quietly.

“... Yes. The place on Carida where Papá was… the Republic attacked it. Papá… He's not coming back, Cassian.”

The six-year-old blinked brown eyes and frowned. “He's dead, or he's a prisoner?”

“He died, _mijo_.”

He'd known it from the way she'd been crying, but he'd needed to hear it. Hearing it made it real.

Cassian crawled into her lap when she opened her arms. After a moment, Izan joined them, and the small family cried for their loss.

\-----

_Home One_  
_Athallia Sector_  
_0 ABY_

Cassian stood by the observation window into the area used for the daycare and preschool area referred to as crèche and watched his daughter as she played with a young Twi’lek girl, the two of them with stuffed animals in their small hands.

He hadn't played like that in nearly twenty years, not since the day Izan had disappeared into the snow. Mamá had been different, quieter, after Papá died, but when Izan vanished, she'd changed. She'd blamed herself; Cassian had blamed himself. There was just so much to do, without Papá, and Izan had slipped outside when brother and mother were busy, he with making the fire and she with dinner.

When they'd dug his small, frozen body out of the snow months later, something in her had broken completely. He had ceased to be a child, forced far too early to be a man.

Auren looked up and saw him there, smiled brightly and waved a chubby hand. She was just a year younger than he'd been, and she'd already seen more horror than he wanted her to.

Cassian waved back, the rush of warmth in his chest still a strange thing. He was determined that she wouldn't know the grief he had, that she wouldn't grow up as her parents had, with blasters in hand when still so small.

An arm slid around him, Jyn nudging into his side. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, tugging her close, and leaned his head on hers.

“You look very serious,” she said.

“Thinking.”

“About what?”

“Innocence. Losing it. The day my father died.”

Her green eyes peered up at him. “You haven't told me about that. You said you've been fighting since you were six, but not how.”

He sighed and kissed her forehead. “I will. Not today, but I will.”

She knew not to push or pry. That was just one thing he loved about her. She knew him so well, even without knowing him.

“Let's go drag her out of there and have dinner,” Jyn said.

“In a few minutes,” he said, shaking his head. “Let her play.”

His fiancée shrugged. “Okay. But just a few. She'll be grumpy if she eats too late, and then we'll pay for it.”

Cassian chuckled and drew her closer. “I love you.”

She slid her other arm around his waist. “I love you, too.”

Holding her, watching their daughter play, Cassian thought that he was actually content for the first time in a lifetime. It would probably be fleeting, being in the middle of another war, but for now, it was enough.


End file.
